The hour of the dragonfly
by crihavoc
Summary: Perhaps the most important walk of Sosuke Sagara's life. Story is stand alone now, series pending.


**The hour of the dragonfly**

Note: Shouji Gatou owns FMP and all associated intellectual property. I just felt like playing in his garage, is all.

* * *

_- AS in autistic mode. All Tac-net connections are passive – _

"Encrypt the following record with Gordian 232- bit, hash with my ID number divided by the sum of my birthday. Data shunt to my personal cache, off- net, at my signal."

_-Affirmative - _

"Um, okay. Begin record."

-Recording- 

-----------------------------------------------------

I was seven years old.

Daddy was holding my hand as we walked. He'd shortened his stride to match mine and we made slow progress as we exited the vine- covered framework of the veranda past his staff and stepped up onto what to my eyes looked like an endless carpet of green, bounded by the sky- reaching ranks of martial trees, branches raised in endless salutes.

Everyone, you understand, had to salute my Daddy. At least, that's what I thought.

We were at the castle town of Karatsu, Saga- ken, staying at a Western style hotel owned by one of MITHRIL's subsidiary businesses, one of the few non- seaside resorts in the town. Security was extremely tight as the first time in two years that all Director and Primary level authorities were meeting face – to – face, in an 18 hour marathon of strategy sessions that encompassed literally every operational and support facet of the peacekeeping organization.

It was the first meeting of it's kind since Uncle Kurz… that is, since Kurz Weber had turned traitor, detonating the bomb that killed Auntie Tessa and Commander Andrey Kalinin.

---------------------------------------------------

_- Robot subroutine triggered, keywordphrase 'Kurz Weber'- _

"Yeah. Kill subroutine. Utilize backup in Partition 5 to overwrite."

_- That is a clear violation of… _

"Tombo, please, just execute."

_- Affirmative. Completed- _

"Thank you."

_-You are welcome, Lieutenant Sagara- _

---------------------------------------------------

Daddy was under a lot of strain. As the recently promoted Vice- Commander of Operations - Area 2 (East), or in ops- acronym- speak, "VCOP deuce," his presence was required for nearly every hour of the eighteen. And as diligent and conscientious as was his habit, he had tirelessly studied the pertinent data and materials during the two days leading into the conference. Even at my young age I recognized that he was riding the edge of exhaustion.

That is why it meant so much to be holding his hand. He had one hour free, one… and he chose to spend it with me.

For such a notable, formal event as the conference, and as one of the only children present, Mom had taken great care in dressing me. As my small hand swung in his careful grip, my polished black shoes scuffed through the green grass of the manicured grounds. The grass had just been mowed and watered, so despite the lateness of the spring afternoon and the warmer temperature of the day the sward was wet and small pieces of grass stuck to the glossy leather. The lace bottom of my long yellow dress also began to show wet spots from where it dragged through the grass: I knew that Mom would only laugh as a reaction and comment on how it was at least still in one piece, luckier by far than most of the clothing I wore.

There was a gentle breeze that set the tops of the high trees swaying; it rippled through the unruly jagged sweep of Daddy's hair and lifted the thick dark length of my own, the green ribbon tied just at the end twisting like a kite. The undersides of the high thin clouds were burnished with color as the sun continued its descent, our trailing shadows stretching elastic, like black licorice, from each step. The smell from the mown grass and nearby flower gardens was fragrant and mystic, an essence of perfect spring that has haunted my senses since, the mélange of scent approached but never recreated season after season, country after country.

Mom was trapped in an Educational Fund budget meeting and was unable to join us. As the Director and Headmistress of the MITHRIL Island Charter School, a responsibility that also covered satellite facilities at all permanent MITHRIL bases, she was in a constant uphill campaign to wrest money from the military organization for her constructive purpose of schooling the children of MITHRIL personnel around the globe. The dichotomy of this task, taking money used for destruction for constructive purposes,was particularly suited for her nature. As much as Daddy she was focused on bringing her utmost to the job, a job she loved.

As an aside, Mom and Daddy and their relationship…

At the time, Daddy had millions of dollars of equipment and hundreds of soldiers at his command. Yet while he had complete authority to engage enemies over an area fully one quarter of the earth, this power ended at the front door to our quarters.

Mom ran the family.

When I commented on this "Chain of Command" irony years later to him a rare half- smile cracked his normal serious expression and he responded, simply: "She ranks me." Unfortunately for Daddy, he was often the focal point for Mom's frustration, within our household the symbol of the military and thus her target, when her budgetary battles went poorly.

But, he was used to the abuse. It simply took me years to understand why, when she had a fan in her hand, he would sweat like hell. I used to think he had a high metabolism.

During one of my AS field - training sessions, I asked Auntie Melissa if she had ever noticed this strange balance of power. I spent several minutes waiting for her to stop laughing. It was the first time I'd ever seen Auntie "Ice" let her guard down to such a degree. I felt pleased as I watched her struggle for control, pleased I could have brought some laughter to what seemed so unhappy a life.

"Yes!" she gasped, finally. "I've noticed the funny dynamics… heh, heh… in their relationship, babycakes." She snorted again and knuckled at tears on her cheek, where they'd leaked out from under her eye patch. Her other eye, the one with undamaged tear ducts, remained dry.

Cloaked Arm Slaves, camouflaged troopers and hidden check- points blended into the grounds, providing the illusion of a private walk. But, there were no sounds except the scuff of our passage and the buzz of insects: birds would not approach the constantly shifting perimeter. Even the air cover hovered discreetly high and silent at Angels 8.

We slowly worked our way around a lemon- tree grove, through the rock garden and past geometric lines of shrubbery. My eyes turned up to gaze at the features of this man who was my father, so composed and intense. Age seven or not, I recognized how Daddy steered our course through the optimum fields of fire of the weapons set to guard us; from my vantage below him I could see his throat work as he used the sub- voc microphone beneath the high collar of his dress uniform to confirm protection hand – off from one location to another along our route.

I thought all the security was for him, protection for such an important man. It was later that I was able truly comprehend his demeanor, realizing what a personal and professional risk he took on that unforgettable, beautiful summer afternoon, exposing to potential hostile action that which was MITHRIL's greatest treasure: the offspring of a Whispered and the most accomplished living Lambda Driver actuator.

One of the key discussion points at the conference was MY future.

Daddy and Mom were taking steps, necessary steps, to address what they perceived as a threat and to remind those in power in the MITHRIL organization exactly whose right and responsibility it was to make decisions that involved me…theirs and theirs alone. So, what I perceived as downtime was to VCOP deuce Sosuke Sagara perhaps the most stressful walk he had ever taken.

His eyes were never still. Occasionally, his free hand rose in an unconscious gesture to the black goatee he had grown over the last year, the facial hair unfamiliar. Mom was no fan of its scratchy nature but accepted the addition in good grace, mindful of the tribute it paid. Daddy's eyes moved down and met mine, then he turned his free arm over and consulted the chronometer woven into his uniform cuff. He muttered something and squinted, frowning as he measured the position of the setting sun, the edges of the scars near his mouth turning white against his tanned skin where they were visible under the neat beard. His brows lifted and his gaze returned to me. He halted our progress with gentle pressure on my hand.

"Kalila…" he said, softly.

As I was placed into Mom's arms in the infirmary aboard the Tuatha De Danaan, I was named Shizu, in honor of my grandmother. While a middle name is not a part of Japanese culture, Mom insisted on one and Daddy certainly had no objections: Tessa. Mom told me that Auntie Tessa cried for days after, every time she saw me.

Shizu Tessa Sagara. Only one time did a person ever try to, in the Japanese style, contract the name to Shi-te- chan. Once, to my face. I guess I'm too Western, sometimes…

Daddy has always been scrupulous about downplaying his origins, the violent time he spent as a child- mujahid in Afghanistan, as if his life only began when Kalinin took him under his wing, his first heartbeat coinciding with the scratch of the pen as he signed his new name on the mercenary contract pledging his service MITHRIL. However, from the hour of my birth he's used one special name for me in private. He calls me "Kalila."

In Arabic, Kalila means: "dearly loved."

"Kalila, there's something I want very much to show you, but time is short and we won't make our rendezvous at the pace we're walking. There's no time to explain, but I'll need to carry you." He bent down to me and then knelt, eyes level with mine, hand pushing a shock of hair out of his eyes. "Are you okay with that?"

"Daddy, you're in your best uniform. Won't it get dirty if you run? Won't you get sweaty?" I put a small hand to his chest, the angularity of his decorations rough against my palm. "Can't you call a helicopter? Or, can we go in AL?" I pressed down for emphasis, earnest in my concerns and eager to ride in his special AS.

His eyes smiled at me, although his mouth stayed straight. "Good ideas, very good. But mechanized transport will disrupt the event we're scheduled to witness." His large hand reached up and covered mine. It was very warm.

"Besides, Kalila, it's… very important to me that we do this, just the two of us, alone." Daddy paused and his lips finally lifted. "We get few enough hours to share."

He tilted his head and lifted his chin in a gesture I had not seen in at least a year. "Up you go, on my back." After a moments pause, I shifted and reached my arms up, locking them around his neck. He stood, and I dangled for a moment before he reached back with one arm and partially supported my weight. He used the fingers on his free hand to extend the mike up from his collar.

"Omni- override, Security Command, from Kusanagi Actual. Authenticate." Daddy gave a code, which the Tac-Net accepted. "Kusanagi Actual and Geppei will advance to grid marker fiver – seven- three via conduit Arrow. I say again, marker foxtrot – sigma – tango via conduit Arrow. This will be a manual evolution, repeat - a manual evolution. Security Command, check fire and stand down along conduit Arrow and communicate to all check- points in line. Kusanagi Actual, clear."

-------------------------------------------------

_- As a child, your identification code was 'Moon Pie.' Interesting datum-_

"You're begging for a diagnostic and re-load. You realize that, don't you?"

_- Recording-_

-------------------------------------------------

Several sharp responses filter through to my hearing, but Daddy's order was acknowledged. His other arm slid back, and then both his hands moved beneath my shoes, allowing me to stand as in a set of stirrups.

And Daddy began to trot. "We have… five minutes… to regain our timeline…Kalila." He said as he made his way steadily across expanse of green, my hair stretched out like a banner, jouncing with every step. The lowering sun had begun to shine through the top- most level of the trees and a maze of blazing geometry wrote itself across the grass before us, individual beams dazzling my eyes as we hustled towards some predestined meeting place.

In exactly five minutes, we slowed to a walk. Daddy carefully put me down and blotted at his shiny forehead with a uniform sleeve. His collar and under- tunic were sodden, but his eyes… his eyes were bright and pleased, exhaustion nowhere to be seen. He consulted his chronometer again. "Correct season, correct hour. And… mark."

He pointed at a thin angular area of afternoon sunlight that glowed golden amidst the advancing shadow some small distance before us. My mind compared the sight to a nightlight shining in a darkened hallway. "Just up ahead," he said. "That's where you'll see them." He sounded eager.

I turned my head and saw a notch in the upper levels of the trees that allowed such a reservoir of brightness to collect. "See what, Daddy…" I said over my shoulder, but then I was already moving towards the sunlight, naturally curious, drawn to the contrast. An area of grass and flowering shrubs lay within the light, glorious compared to the duller shadowed areas to each side. I could make out the flora, colors vivid in nature's spotlight, but there was something else… a lot of somethings…

"Move slowly and quietly." Daddy said from right next to my ear. I hopped in place, startled by his silent movements, clapping both hands over my mouth.

"Daddy, you frightened me…" I whispered, frowning. He did not look remorseful, but pointed again with one hand, the other moving around my shoulders.

"Look carefully. They're almost like a squadron of MI- 28 Hinds in partial- cloak, formed up like a tactical reserve."

We moved carefully closer, stalking as well as possible in the situation. Within the lighted territory before us were dragonflies; herded by the encroaching shadows, they had all clustered in refuge. There were dozens in an amazing variety of colorations, the air busy with their swift and random movements. Those not airborne were causing the stalks and leaves of the plants to bob under their resting weight. In the honeyed light of the afternoon sun the prisming wings of the insects seemed a living stream of jewels.

"Dazzle…" Daddy breathed into my ear. "A group of dragonflies is called a 'dazzle.'" I could only nod, captivated. I knelt and he knelt beside me. I slowly reached out my hand, index finger extended, into the light. "Hold steady…" Daddy said.

A large dragonfly with green eyes and a black body abruptly pivoted in hover and then settled onto my finger. There was no sense of weight at all. The head rotated one way, and then the other. I sighed and tried very hard to keep my arm still. I realized a bit of tongue was peeking out of the corner of my mouth in my total concentration.

"One ancient name given to Japan is 'Akitsu- shimu' or 'Isle of the Dragonfly,'" Daddy whispered. He stroked his beard absently. "The dragonfly is symbolic of success, victory, strength, courage… and happiness. Of course, there is also the myth of the 'Shoryo tombo,' the dragonfly of the dead whose job it is to transport the souls to heaven… " He frowned. "I'm not sure if they were supposed to transport spirits to hell…""

I began to carefully draw my arm in. The dragonfly did not shift until my hand entered the shadows. Then it, as quickly as it had landed,flitted from my finger and back into the sunlight.

"Also, Kalila…"

"Daddy, stop talking, please, you'll scare them. Look at them all, so beautiful!"

"You like them…?" He asked, softly. I wish now that I had looked at him for more than a second, then, that I could remember his face at that moment.

"Oh, yes. Yes, Daddy. Thank you!" I reached out my hand, the same that the dragonfly had used as a perch, and placed it upon his scarred knuckles…

-----------------------------------------------

_-Interrupt, Interrupt. Ping from Team Leader Urzu 1 on secure frequency. Going active on Tac-net - _

"Stop daydreaming, babycakes, time to save your old man's ass."

"Roger that, ma'am. Have the boys form up. Sagara, out. Tombo, zip and shunt record… I'll finish it later."

-_ Affirmative. Completed. General frequency, platoon, engaged by Urzu 1- _

"Showtime, boys. The LT is going to heat up, let's give her some security."

Seven M-13 Arm Slaves in Heavy Weapon load- out decloaked and formed a wide circle, chain guns and missle tubes facing out to the shadowed jungle around them. At the center of the circle another AS appeared from cloak, armor black and green and with a minimal weapons load.

"Tombo, engage Lambda Driver."

_- Lambda Driver activation confirmed, Lieutenant Geppei-_

"I am so going to restrict your access to AL. That is, if you survive my ratchet set."

The eye- like photonic sensor arrays in the "head" of the black AS flashed like fire- filled emeralds. Four long vanes extended from ports in the armor on the back of the mech. A rainbow luminescence gradually surrounded the vanes, gained coherence and unfurled like prisming wings.

"Tombo, transmit readiness to Urzu 1. Well, Daddy… time to transport spirits to hell."

_- Affirmative. On both statements -_

The platoon of mechs, Lt. Shizu Sagara remaining at the center of their formation, moved as one into the jungle, towards the thunder- claps of distant explosions suffusing the humid air.

FIN

--------------------------------------------

This story got into my head and would not leave… I apologize for those waiting for Chapter 8 of my Bleach AU, Kid Strawberry. I'll be returning to the Arizona territories shortly.

I have an entire longer story plotted, of which this is a Prequel. It deals with the revealed secret of the Whispered, the traitorous actions of Kurz Weber and the ultimate adventure of the Sagara clan (Shizu ain't their only kid, you know).

God, I'd love to get it written… anyway, let me know if you like this. If you thought it sucked, thanks for taking the time. Maybe I'll buy you a coffee, someday…


End file.
